


Lightning Grounded

by VespidaeQueen



Series: The Lightning Field [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Post-Game, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-22
Updated: 2011-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VespidaeQueen/pseuds/VespidaeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They try for a life together, but things will never be all right, not as long as Vengeance remains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2011 after completely Dragon Age 2 for the first time.

There are more bad days than good days now.

  
They had thought, back when they first started running, that they could fix this – no,  _Hawke_  thought she could fix this, fix  _him_ , and he keeps trying to tell her that it's impossible – or at least making it a little better, and, for a time, it is. After all the events in Kirkwall, Justice is...well, if not content than at least  _sated_  for the time being, and as they move further away from any area filled with templars the raging inside his head starts to subside. They find a small, secluded town and set down for a time, resting, healing, and things are okay.

  
They have a few years. A few years of a tense happiness that turns into something like  _real_  happiness, and they are a family for awhile. A family with him and Hawke and the dog, and then eventually it becomes him and Hawke and the dog and a  _daughter_ , and things are _good_. Ayda is a tiny thing, with dark skin just a shade lighter than her mother's and the biggest brown eyes that he's ever seen – and Hawke teases him and tell him he just needs to look in a mirror more often because those are  _his_  eyes – and he  _loves_  her more than anything else.

  
There are bits of Kristoff leftover, still clinging to Justice, and Justice remembers the warden's longing for a child. Anders hopes – _hopes so very much_  – that this will calm him, ground him, keep him  _human_  for just a little longer.

  
He thinks that he doesn't deserve it, but he wants just a  _little_  happiness. Just a little.

  
But the world is on fire, and there is little time for a child, and eventually Justice comes back, stronger than before, insisting that they haven't done enough, that they will  _never_  have done enough. It is then that Hawke leaves for a time – no, she leaves  _before_  Justice comes back, so she doesn't know – and he struggles for months to hold on without her there, knowing that if he lets go for even a moment he might never come back, and he cannot do that to his daughter.

  
So he waits and he writes and he  _tries_  to keep Justice back – no, not Justice,  _Vengeance_  – and he mostly succeeds. There are blackouts, moments that he does not remember, but the house is still standing when he comes back to himself and there is never blood on his hands, and he never hears of any templars being killed anywhere in the vicinity. It's not all right, but he cannot do anything more.

  
It is spring when Hawke returns, clad in her old armor that she wore when she was the Champion –  _and those times are flowing away quickly, like water and thought_  – with a weary expression that doesn't leave her face for weeks and more scars crossing her body than he remembered. She does not speak about what happened or where she went, but he  _knows_ , he hears the rumors and the stories, and more than once he remembers Varric and the stories he used to tell _._

 _  
It isn't a good story unless the hero dies at the end_.

  
But he isn't dead yet, and neither is she, and Ayda is walking and talking and climbing things like Anders used to when he was a child.

  
But he starts remembering less and less, and he panics and rages and  _tries_ , but he knows what Hawke will never accept, that Justice is a part of him, thoroughly integrated into his being, and he is  _stronger_  than Anders. So much stronger.

  
On his best days, he can can speak and laugh and hold his daughter and let her tuck daisies into his ponytail. On his worst, he comes to only to find that Hawke has left Ayda with the neighbors while she tries desperately to calm him.

  
Ayda is getting enough to understand by then, old enough that she knows something is wrong. She asks so many questions, and Anders hides in their room with his head in his hands while Hawke  _tries_  to explain some of it to a little girl who shouldn't have to know about demons and spirits and abominations.

  
He doesn't notice exactly when Hawke stops smiling, just that she does. There are no more jokes, no laughter anymore. It's like how it was after her mother's death, only  _worse_  because it lasts and  _lasts_ , and he doesn't know what to  _do_.

  
Then, one morning, they wake up to find Aya's room coated in ice and snow, and they shouldn't have been surprised, not when they are both mages themselves, but they  _are_. And Anders is frightened, so frightened, even if there are no Circles anymore, even if they shouldn't have to worry about templars, because all he can remember is them dragging him away from his mother as a child.

 _  
There are no templars here_ , he tells himself, over and over again.  _No one will take her. She is fine. We can protect her. She will be safe._

  
And then he doesn't remember anything, not until Hawke has caught him by the arm and he has somehow gotten out of the house.

  
He has  _no_  idea what he was about to do.

  
“Come inside, Anders,” she says, fingers spasming around his wrist as she tries to hold him there. He stares at her for a long moment, then nods, and she lets her hand drift down to twine with his and leads him into their home.

  
He is quiet for a long time, and cannot look at Ayda for fear that something inside of him will snap.

  
“Ayda thinks you are angry with her,” Hawke tells him that night as she braids her long hair, and her words are enough to shake him from his silence.

  
“I...” He swallows thickly. “I'm not.”

  
“I know you aren't,” she says, and she does not look at him. “But she is a child, and she does not understand why you keep distancing yourself from her. She thinks she has done something wrong.”

  
It is like a kick to the chest and Anders feels like crying.

  
“I can't-” he says, stops, breathes, feels so many words trying to pour out from his mouth. “Ismat, I'm losing myself.”

  
Her fingers stop moving, her hair half braided, and she is silent.

  
“I can't do this,” he says. “I can't...if they take Ayda, I-”

  
“No one is going to take her,” she says, and he  _wants_  to believe her.

  
“There are still templars.”  _As long as there are templars, she isn't safe_.

  
Hawke turns then, dropping the end of the braid and her unbound hair unravels around her face. “ _No one_  will take her,” she says, dropping to the ground before him and gripping his hands in hers, looking up at him. “I  _swear it_.”

  
“They will take her away and put her in a tower,” he says brokenly, and Hawke  _looks_  at him and there is  _so much_  worry in her eyes.

  
“The towers are gone, Anders,” she says. “Mages are free.”

  
“They will  _never_  be free. Not until  _every_  templar is gone.”

  
She drops his hands and rises, pressing her forehead against his. “Go away,” she whispers, breath hot against his skin. “Go away, go away,  _go away._ ” She repeats it as though saying it will drive Justice away.

  
And Anders pushes the spirit's presence as far down as he can and holds on to Hawke like she is a lifeline and  _breathes_  until the moment has passed.

  
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm so sorry. I can't...I can barely control him anymore. I don't know what I do half the time. What if I-”

  
“Don't.”

  
“What if I hurt you?” he says, desperate. “What if I can't control him and I hurt you? Or Ayda?”

  
“You  _won't_. I won't  _let_  you.” There is such steel in her voice and he  _wants_  to believe her. But he cannot.

  
“If I do, you'll have to-”

  
“ _Don't_. Don't you  _dare_  ask me that.” Her shoulders shake, her hands unsteady where they cup his face and thread through his hair.

  
“I couldn't bear it,” he says,  _insists_ , because this is  _important_ , something they've ignored far too long. “If I lose myself, kill me. You have to.”

  
She shudders and shakes and she surges forward, kissing him harshly, lips and teeth and tongue as they topple backwards onto the bed. There is anger and fear and desperation that clings to them as he pulls her nightgown from her shoulders and kisses her as though it is the last time he ever will.

  
It isn't, but neither of them know that for certain.

  
There is still time remaining for them, before everything shatters.


End file.
